I find myself dancing. Knowing damn well a city can take as much as it can give. I turn Tina up loud. Light a candle, hand-poured in Mississippi, hints of verbena and makrut. As for what gin can do, sting like a song, prolong a lifelong truth. Erase memory with movement,
I still like Tina Turner.
I like it. I don't even understand it but I like it.